


A Little Out of Reach

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: Take That
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected phone makes Howard admit to something he's long hidden.  But is it too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Out of Reach

He nearly didn't answer the phone.

He was heading out to the shops—it was his turn to take Grace tomorrow and with Katie out of the picture, it was up to him to get some food in—twirling his keys around one finger and nearly at the door, when the phone rang. He almost let it go to voicemail—it was always some bloody telemarketer—but at the last minute dashed back into the kitchen and picked up the phone.

"Hello."

"Have you talked to him?" Jonathan said in a rush. "Did he call? Did he tell you why?"

"Have I talked to who, Jonathan?" Howard stood blinking in the kitchen, trying to sort out what their manager was on about.

"You haven't. He hasn't. Shit." Jonathan sounded more panicked than he'd been when Robbie had come down with food poisoning in Copenhagen. And that wasn't good. Jonathan had been fucking hysterical that night. Josie had taken it much better, rolling her eyes and asking her famous client what the fuck he'd been thinking, having seafood during a tour. But then, Josie had had years dealing with Robbie.

"What the fuck is going on?" Howard said.

"I was hoping he'd called."

"Who'd called?"

"Jason."

Howard felt a cold stone form in his gut.

"Why would Jason call me?"

"He just called me to tell me…and I was sure he would have told you first. You of all people. But he didn't. And I don't—"

Now Howard was getting worried. Panicked didn't cover it. Jonathan was incoherent.

"Is Jason okay?" Because the worst thing Howard could think of was that Jason was hurt or ill. Or someone he loved was. Not Jenny… "Is his family okay?"

"He's fine. Everyone's fine." He could hear Jonathan take in a deep breath. When he started speaking again, he was using full sentences again, though sounded no calmer. "He called to tell me he's quitting."

"Quitting what?" Howard couldn't take this on board.

"Quitting smoking. What do you think, Howard? He's quitting the band."

That news dropped into stunned silence. Howard couldn't think what to say in response to such an impossible statement, and Jonathan seemed to have exhausted all of his words. Howard felt like a bug trapped in amber, completely incapable of movement, of breathing, of even batting an eyelid. He stood like that for what seemed like ages, trying to make sense of what he'd just heard, trying to put together a coherent thought. On an incoherent one. He didn't mind which.

He could hear Jonathan on the other end, babbling, asking if he was alright, if he was still there. As he listened to the fear in Jonathan's voice, he felt the amber shatter. He knew what he had to do, and how quickly he had to do it.

"Where is he?" he asked Jonathan.

"What?"

"Where is he? Where did he call from?"

"I don't know. He was on his mobile. He could have been anywhere, even fucking Bali. You know what he's like."

Howard did know what Jason was like. He knew exactly what he was like. And that was why he knew he couldn't waste any more time.

"I'll call you back," he said, then hung up while Jonathan was still sputtering on the other end.

He had to track down Jason. Absolutely had to. And there was only one person he could think of who would both know where he was and would be likely to give Howard that information. 

He looked through two drawers full of scraps of paper he'd been meaning to sort for years and the contacts on three old mobiles before he found the number he needed, and by that time he was frantic with worry.

"Hello."

"Where is he, Simon?"

He didn't have time for pleasantries. He knew that, could feel it in the tension buzzing through his body.

"I don't know." Simon Orange's answer was without hesitation. And that, more than anything, told Howard he was lying.

"Do you know what he's done?"

"I know he doesn't want to talk to any of you."

"He's quit, Simon. He quit the bloody band."

Howard heard a sharp breath from the other end of the line, and then nothing for several long moments until Simon finally replied.

"I didn't know, but that doesn't change anything. He doesn't want to talk to you, How."

"I won't try and talk him out of it." That was a patent lie, but he'd worry about lying to Simon later. "I just want to understand. I want him to tell me why."

"I'm sorry, Howard."

"I won't tell the others. I'll do anything. Please, Simon." Howard knew he was pleading. Knew and didn't care. He'd never been particularly fussed about dignity, and this was so much more important than his fucking pride.

"I don't know…" Simon was wavering. Howard could hear it in his voice. It just needed the right encouragement to push him over the edge.

"I _need_ to talk to him, Simon. There are things…" He hesitated, willing himself to continue, to move past those barriers that had kept him silent for so long. "There are things I've always wanted to say to him. Things I was too afraid to say. I don't want him to leave without hearing them."

"Jesus," Simon whispered on the other end of the line. Howard heard a deep breath in and out, and then Simon was speaking again.

"He's in London, at his house. Well, he was, anyway. He might be gone by now, and before you ask, no, he didn't tell me where he was going. Not Thailand, anyway. He promised us he wouldn't go there. Even he's not mad enough to walk into the middle of a military coup."

"Thank you, Simon." Which seemed completely inadequate to express how he felt.

"You're welcome. And Howard?"

"Yeah."

There was a long pause when it seemed Simon was struggling with what to say.

"Just, good luck, alright? And if you can keep my brother from running off to the other side of the world, our mum will be grateful."

"I'll do what I can."

"Now, go."

Howard needed no more encouragement than that. He hung up the phone, grabbed his keys, and was in the car in seconds.

As he headed out onto the streets, he thought that he should have known this day was coming. Had been coming for months, for years, even. Since the last tour, really. Since Jason had refused to sing any leads. ("They'll want the hits for this tour, How. I don't have any hits.") Not even his two fucking lines in Never Forget. ("Robbie'll do them better. You know he will. He won't cock them up like I did on X Factor.") Since he'd gradually stopped doing any of the promo work on the tour. Since he'd refused to be filmed for the tour documentary. 

Jason had been working at obliterating his own voice when it came to the band for some time, Howard realized. 

He'd missed that voice. He'd missed the amazing things Jay would say in interviews. He'd missed the courage he showed every time he went out on stage and sang a lead. He'd missed singing back up behind him, doing the best harmonies he could to make Jason sound the best _he_ could.

He didn't want Jason to quit. He just didn't. So he swore and honked and swerved his way through London traffic until he finally found himself on Jason's street. He pulled into a completely illegal parking spot (let them clamp his tire; he didn't care) and ran down the pavement, speeding up when he noticed a black cab parked with its engine running in front of Jason's house. The cabbie gave Howard a nod as he poked his head in through the window.

"You waitin' for Mr. Orange?"

"Yeah," said the driver, a sad-faced bloke who eyed Howard suspiciously. "Oi, aren't you another one of those—"

"'E's changed his mind," Howard said quickly, before the man really recognized him. He pushed a bundle of twenty quid notes into the cabbie's hand before he could complain about losing his fare. "For your trouble."

Before the man could question him further, Howard turned and ran up the steps of Jason's house two at a time. He paused at the door, then pushed the buzzer, fully prepared to ring it forever if that's what it took to get Jason to answer. But he didn't have to ring it forever. He barely had to ring it at all, as the door swung open. And there he was, Jason Orange, standing in his front hall in a rumpled jacket and jeans, a knapsack slung over his shoulder and a suitcase at his feet. He looked tired and scruffy and surprised all at once, and Howard saw him flinch as he took in who was standing at his door.

"Howard," Jason said. "I thought you were the cabbie."

"He had a better offer." Howard pointed a thumb to where the black car was pulling out into the street behind him.

Jason stared at the cab, moving ever further down the street, with his mouth open and his eyes wide.

"Shit." He looked back at Howard. "You bastard." Jason should have been angry, having his nice little getaway plan scuppered, but he seemed more resigned than anything. As if he'd known it was inevitable, Howard showing up on his doorstep and getting rid of his cab. And that resignation made Howard angry. How dare he be resigned about _this_? How dare he not seem to care?

"Yeah, well, I could say the same thing. What'd you think? That you could tell Jonathan you quit and then bugger off without facing any of us?"

"I thought it would be easier that way."

"Fuck easier. This shouldn't be easy." Howard took a step forward, so he was inside completely. Jason took a step back, keeping some distance between them. "It should be fucking hard, Jay."

"You don't think this was hard?" And there it was, a flash of passion in those blue eyes. "You think I did this on a whim?"

"No, I don't think you did it on a whim. You don't do anything on a whim." Howard could hear his own voice rising and rising with each word. "I'll bet you thought and thought and thought about it until you couldn't think about it anymore. Until you'd convinced yourself it was the only thing you could do. But it fucking isn't, Jay." 

Jason's cheeks flushed and his fists clenched, and Howard thought for one brief second that Jay might actually hit him. But he didn't. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a breath so deep that Howard could see his chest rise and fall. Then he reached out past Howard and shut the door—which only made sense; all it would take is one nosy bastard with a mobile and the tabloids would be filled with pictures of two members of Take That having a go at each other—and then turned and walked into his living room, shedding his knapsack and jacket and shoes as he went.

Howard took a breath himself, trying to cleanse himself of the toxic mix of anger and fear and frustration and confusion he could feel fizzing through his veins, and then followed Jason. He found him sitting on the floor, on the Indian carpet that dominated the room, his legs crossed, his hands resting loosely on his knees, staring at Howard with an expression both sad and curious.

Howard kicked off his own shoes and sat on the floor across from Jason. He felt as nervous as he'd done that day, oh so many years ago, when he'd arrived late at an audition for a boy band and had found another boy who seemed like his other half.

He'd lost that boy once already, when the band had broken up the first time and Jason had become just another acquaintance he saw once in a while. He wasn't prepared to lose him again. To stop that, he might even be prepared to tell the truth. But first, he had to know what Jason was thinking.

"Talk to me, Jay," he said.

Jason looked at him, blinked quickly several times, as if he had something caught in his eye, and then he opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm afraid, Dougie," Jason said, his voice quiet. "I'm afraid of screwing up when I sing. I'm afraid you lot will kick me out when I can't dance anymore. I'm afraid of what the paps might shoot. I'm afraid of the paps thinking I'm not worth shooting. I'm afraid of what people see when they look at me. And there always seems to be someone looking at me. I'm just afraid all the time."

Howard felt the back of his throat tighten and his eyes tingle. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold the silly bastard sitting in front of him, but somehow he knew that wasn't the answer. So he swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried to find the words that would make everything right. Which was fucking difficult. Words had never been his strength.

"Do you know what I'm afraid of?" he asked, his own voice as quiet as Jason's had been.

Jason shook his head.

"I'm afraid I'm not good enough. I'm afraid of meeting new people. I'm afraid of the band breaking up. I'm afraid of the band _not_ breaking up and everyone deciding we're crap after all. But those aren't the things I'm most afraid of."

He stopped and took a deep breath. A few more words and it would all be out, for good or ill.

"What I'm most afraid of is speaking up, of asking for what I want most and finding out I can't have it."

Jason looked at him, half curious, and half terrified. Which was fair enough. That was how Howard felt himself.

"What do you want, Howard?"

Howard held his hand out, palm up, until Jason reached forward and took it. He did nothing more than hold Jason's hand for a long minute, concentrating on the feel of it, the dry warmth of his skin and the slight shaking of his fingers. He tried to draw strength from Jason, to find the words to say what he needed to. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come.

Jason tightened his grip, making Howard look up into his blue eyes. The terror had left those eyes, leaving only curiosity and something that looked like courage. Howard felt his own courage bloom in response, and realized he didn't need words to ask for what he wanted. He squeezed Jason's hand, smiled, and leaned forward. 

The first touch of his lips on Jason's was gentle, the lightest of touches, a touch that made him want more. He leaned in further and opened his mouth slightly. He thought he could feel Jason smile against him, and then he was tasting him, tasting teeth and tongue.

Howard felt his heart speed up and his breath catch in the back of his throat. Then Jason reached out and grabbed a fistful of his curls, and he stopped thinking entirely.

He ended up with Jason on top of him, with both of them naked, their clothes strewn around the room, caught on ankles and thrown on shelves. Why had he ever been afraid of this? This was good and natural, everything he'd hoped for and nothing like he'd ever imagined.

He gasped as Jason bit at his shoulder, enjoying the slide of skin on skin, the messiness of it. Over twenty years he'd spent learning how to move gracefully with this man, but now he enjoyed their clumsiness, the way they weren't completely in sync, the way they could laugh together when Jason tickled his side or he missed Jay's mouth.

But then neither of them was laughing, with Jason thrusting against him as Howard arched his back in pleasure, convinced that it couldn't feel any better, except then it did. 

It ended far too soon, with Jason sprawled on top of him and both of them taking in great heaving breaths of air. They lay like that for a long time, sweaty and sticky, with Jason's heart thumping against Howard's chest. Finally Jason sighed and stood and looked down at him with a great grin Howard returned, before he disappeared from the room. He came back after a minute, still naked, still flushed, and tossed Howard a bog roll.

"Though you might needs this," he said, still grinning.

"Thanks."

Howard cleaned himself up (slowly, ridiculously reluctant to be rid of the evidence of what they'd done) as Jason watched him, his eyes as wide as his grin. When he was done, Jason sank to his knees and once more spread on top of him.

"Why didn't we do this years ago?" Jason asked as Howard held him close and kissed the top of his head.

"Because we were young and stupid and _scared_ ," Howard said. "Then we were older and stupid and scared. And our lives were always too complicated."

"Things are always complicated if you make them that way."

Howard snorted.

"That coming from a man who's spent a lifetime's making things as fucking complicated as he can."

"I do not." Jason looked up, his expression hurt.

"You fucking do. You're quitting because you've made things more complicated than they are."

"I am not."

"You're not quitting, or you're not making things more complicated?"

Jason slowly rolled onto one elbow and looked down at Howard through narrowed eyes.

"You didn't just shag me to keep me from quitting, did you?"

"I've wanted to shag you since 1990," Howard said, putting his hands beneath his head as he looked up at Jason. "Are you still going to quit?"

Jason sighed, then draped himself over Howard's chest, with one arm wrapped possessively around him.

"I can't now, can I? I'd miss you too much."

"You don't sound pleased about it." Howard didn't want Jason to quit, but he didn't want him to be miserable about staying, either.

"I'm pleased about shagging you." Jason shifted so he was looking Howard in the eyes. "Assuming this is more than a one off." He looked hesitant, as if the wrong answer could wound him.

"Definitely not a one off." Howard let one hand play in Jason's hair—he'd let it get scruffy again—then asked one of the many questions he had. The most important question. "If you stay, are you going to sing, next time 'round?"

"I sang the last time." Jason's reply was quick and defensive.

"You know what I mean. Are you going to sing a lead?"

"I might."

"Be a shame if you didn't. I love your voice." 

"I hate it." Jason said the words with such conviction that it put a thin needle of pain through Howard's heart.

"Everyone hates their own voice, Jason. Doesn't mean it isn't a good one."

"Bet Gary doesn't hate his."

"Yeah, okay." Howard had to give him that one. Gary might have as many insecurities as any of them, but he'd always been confident about how brilliant his voice was. But they weren't all Gaz. "Mark hates his voice, and he doesn't let that stop him."

"I sometimes think Mark is tougher than any of us," Jason said, staring into space, his voice wistful. "Do you hate your voice?" Jason looked at him with genuine curiosity.

Howard didn't respond right away. He thought hard about the question, because there wasn't an easy answer to it.

"I don't know. It's alright, I guess. I think more about what I can _do_ with my voice. I know I'm good at the harmonies, and my voice is just what I use to make them."

"You're brilliant at the BVs, How." Jason gave him a smile filled with such admiration and affection that it pulled that needle of pain right out of his heart and made him smile back at the mad bastard.

"So, are you going to sing on the next tour or not?"

"I suppose I'll have to or you'll keep after me, won't you? But I'm still going to be scared."

"We can be scared together."

"I may still quit some day."

"We can quit together."

"Is that going to be your answer for everything, for every problem?" Jason showed a flash of irritation. "That we do it together?"

"Yeah." Howard grinned. "That's exactly it. Until you get sick of me." His grin faltered at that. He knew how Jason's attention could drift. He'd certainly seen it happen enough times over the years.

"Never happen," Jason assured him, and then squeezed Howard tight to emphasize his point. "I've wanted to shag you since 1990, too."

"Good," Howard said, and squeezed him back. 

Jason closed his eyes with a smile. Howard could feel him begin to relax, feel his breathing slow, feel the exact moment when he fell into sleep. He knew he should wake Jay, move them to the bedroom, or at least to the sofa, before they both woke up with kinks in necks and backs and knees. But judging by the circles under his eyes, not to mention past history, Jason hadn't been sleeping, and Howard wasn't going to be the one to disturb his sleep now. 

So, he held him tightly and watched over him and made plans for a future where neither of them was afraid and neither of them was alone and they both could find the words to ask for what they needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hc_bingo](http://hc_bingo.livejournal.com) writing challenge, for the "loss of voice" square. Thanks, as ever, to my lovely first reader, [soundofthesurf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofthesurf), and my fab beta, m. butterfly.


End file.
